It's Complicated, Okay?
by SwirlySlidez
Summary: Logan reflects on his relationships. Slash pairings. Rated M for good reason. There be sex in here.


They don't know. They think they know, and maybe they have a damn good idea. James and Carlos? Our other friends at the PalmWoods? Our fans? They all have to know something. They have to see it in the way we look at each other. You look at me like you're ready to eat me, and I'll be damned if I don't want it, so fucking bad. But they don't really know everything. They speculate, but they don't know.

I'll bet they think I'm shy, that I wouldn't do that kind of stuff with you. That's why we have our girlfriends on the side. Camille and Jo. They're our beards. We know it. We joke about it. But what they don't know... I love that they don't know about the times when all four of us lie together, wrapped in each other's arms. When I'm feeling like sharing and I let them come in, take part. None of them know about how it starts: you and Jo moaning, panting into each other's mouths, taunting us. Camille and I watch. You're vicious together. It's so damn beautiful. Camille usually gets jealous first, pulling me into a powerful kiss that escalates quick. And when the sound of my moan hits your ears, it all changes.

The girls become background noise, filler. You disentangle from Jo, latching onto my neck, my shoulder, my leg that one time. You move in until Camille has no room, push her aside and she's okay with that. She moves over to Jo and they watch. They like it, I know. I'm usually not too far gone in the feeling of you by the time they start in on each other. Nipping, licking, pawing. It becomes a wild tangle, four bodies seeking others. And for a moment, we're so tangled up in each other, we truly could be one entity. All four of us.

And then you look at me with those lust blown emerald eyes. You don't have to say anything and I know. We move away from the girls, out of their reach, and your hand makes its way to my cock. Always. You can't wait to touch me, your hands never faltering at the button to my slacks, sliding the zipper down deftly and dipping inside. I know the feel of your hand like it was written on my memory at birth. This is how we belong. You and me, never separated by clothing. The niceties of polite society. Fuck them. They don't have what we have.

Amidst it all, you manage to suck a bruise into my throat, stroking me quickly, bringing me near the edge and stopping just before I come. And I curse you for it. You smirk at me and lick my cheek, my ear, my neck. And finally, as though it's an afterthought, something we never even thought to do, you kiss me. And suddenly it's something we always should be doing. I wonder why we never did this before, even though we were doing it just yesterday. I can never get enough of the taste of you.

Soft moans can be heard to my left or yours, whichever side of the bed the girls ended up on that day. And it spurs us forward, surging against each other and seeking out that contact, that brush of skin and that friction between the fabrics of our pants. My hands find their way to your belt line, pulling open your impossibly skinny jeans and yanking them down your thighs, underwear and all. No shame. The girls have seen you this way. I've seen you this way. And I want to see it again.

You shimmy the rest of the way out of your pants and dip your head, pressing kisses to my stomach and abs as you push my shirt up, then drag your hands down to pull my pants off, underwear too. You travel with the pants every time, stopping to press a kiss to my left ankle, and then my right. Some things never change, and it's a routine I love. Can't get enough of. Your lips, unlike the rest of you, are so soft. You're all hard lines and sharp angles. You're brash and easy to anger. You float through life on this cloud of cocky swagger that even James can't match. But those lips... There have never been a better pair of lips. And it's as though they were created to make me see stars.

You move up, kissing and licking at my legs up to the thighs. You work your way to my hip bones, licking at the skin and biting before moving up again, ignoring the place I want you to be so badly. Need you to be. And as you make your way up my body, your lips finally meeting mine again, I feel your body run flush against mine, my senses alight with the feeling of your dick and mine, rubbing just so against each other. It's rough at first, the shock of the touch causing us to buck painfully against each other. Your hip leaves bruises behind at least half the time.

A whispered plea from the side tells me that Jo and Camille are lost to the world, no longer giving a damn about us. The way it should be. We aren't in this for them. We're in it for us, like we've always been. And aren't we lucky as Hell to have found two girls who love each other as much as we love each other? Two girls willing to do this with us, help us pretend for the sake of the band...

Your hand on my cheek brings me back into the moment, your other hand ghosting between us to stroke me again. My eyelids flutter shut a moment, unable to focus. I take a breath, groan and look at you. You're so good at that, making me lose it. I wish I knew your secret.

Your lips meet mine again and my thoughts leave me. I'm left with the smell and taste and feel of you. Only you. We press against each other, a bit lazy now we've made first contact, pawing still at each other's shirts until we slide them off. It's still unclear when we part from the kiss to get them over our heads, but we do. And we lie, skin to skin, hands roaming, experimenting, loving.

You rise up to your elbows, smiling down at me, and you say two words. "Need you." No turning back from that point, I know. I hook your legs and flip us, pressing down into you, pawing your skin, raking my nails down your arms, biting into your chest and shoulders. Your moans are like music to my ears.

Only here, in the bedroom, have you ever let someone else take control. Out there, you're the leader. The man in charge. Everyone looks to you for the answer and you make the decisions. In here, you let me take over, my hands and teeth finding every knot of tension in your body and forcing it away even as I search the room for the lube. And it's never in the same place, always hidden away. A hand strikes it under a pillow, or I find it in a drawer. Sometimes, most times, I have to break from you. Cross the room to retrieve it, wondering vaguely what happened the last time we had sex to put it all the way over there...

This isn't as often an occurrence as some people will make it in their lives. You and I. We only have so much time alone these days. We have a band and homework and tour dates. We have social lives. We have faux girlfriends. Hell, we barely have time to sit and cuddle, to talk about our days when we're apart, to kiss. Sex is extremely rare for us. So when it comes, we kind of go all out. We've been known to get a little wild. So where I find the lube is never too shocking to me.

What's more shocking is the look of complete trust in your eyes when I come back with it. You're giving yourself up to me completely. And at that moment, we truly are the only ones in the room. Whether or not Jo and Camille were there earlier, I see no one but you, hear nothing but the harsh hiss of your breath. In. And out.

It takes too long to prepare you. You say it's me being overly cautious. The doctor in me coming out. I let you believe that, but truly it's because I don't want this to end. I can't get enough of the moans you make, the faces. Everything. When I get three fingers in, twisting and curling them, acting like I'm searching. I know just where to hit to make you beg, but I work at it. It's more fun that way, to watch you squirm. And then, as if on accident (we both know it's not), I brush your prostate, and you howl. You fucking howl. And it's beautiful. So raw. So... Kendall.

It's a near blur after that. I go from prepping you to taking you. You moan my name and claw at my shoulders as I press in, getting in to the hilt and stilling my movements until you wrap your legs around my back and yank my head down, crashing our lips together. And I draw out, slow, agonizingly slow. You're so tight and hot and I can't get over it. I pull out almost completely, and you whimper and claw. I slam back in and you howl again, louder, deeper. You'll lose your voice by morning, but it's worth it.

We build up a rhythm and you give as much as you get. It always comes too fast, that feeling in my gut. I know I'm going to come. I know it. And I touch you. Finally, I touch you, stroking you in time with my thrusts, drawing delicious moans from your perfect lips. You tense, and I dive in, capturing your lips with my own, swallowing your shouted moan as you come, your inner walls clenching around me as you coat our stomachs with your release. It gets to be too much for me and I fall apart, thrusting deep and gasping my orgasm against your mouth, coming deep within you.

We lie still for several moments, the world coming back into focus and the sounds of Jo and Camille to our side coming back to my ears. They're done, choosing to cuddle and to watch. They murmur their appreciation, what I can only hope is their appreciation for our love. I glance over, a soft smile on my lips at their twined limbs. They're like us, naked and panting, sweating and clinging to one another. In love.

I pull out of you, moaning at the lack of contact, chuckling when you whimper. I drop to my side on the bed, gathering you into my arms and kissing along your neck. You tangle our legs together, your arms wrapping around me. And suddenly you're in charge again, pulling me against your chest and switching our positions so I'm lying against you, the blankets a heap at our feet.

It's quiet for some time, the only sounds the sounds of Jo and Camille catching their breath, or you pulling me into a slow, sedated kiss. After a while, one of us gets cold and gathers the blankets from our feet, pulling them over the four of us. You and I hold fast to each other and Jo and Camille don't let go of one another. The distance between our two couples stays as is, not out of anger or jealousy, but out of respect. We can be one group when we want, and we're more than comfortable playing around, but at the end of the day, we go to our true homes. And we know, mine is with you. Not Camille. And yours is with me. Not Jo.

After some time, the girls leave, pulling their clothes back on and leaving us to our room, to be alone. And it's one more thing about them I'm so grateful for. They love each other the same way I love you and you love me. So they know when to give us our space. I know, one day, we're going to have to give up the ruse, come out to the public. But for now? Here? I'm perfectly fine with sharing you with Jo. She offers a fair trade.

Of course, at the end of the day, Camille isn't you. But at least she lets me come home to you. Someone else... probably wouldn't.


End file.
